Even in the grave, all is not lost.
I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow.
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!
As a poet and as a mathematician, he would reason well; as a mere mathematician, he could not have reasoned at all.
A man's grammar, like Caesar's wife, must not only be pure, but above suspicion of impurity.
Let us dismiss, as irrelevant to the poem per se, the circumstance ... which, in the first place, gave rise to the intention of composing a poem that should suit at once the popular and the critical taste.